Vespers

The Bingo sign is losing teeth,

the 'G' fell in the weeds.

I feel the asphalt underneath

more than I feel the creeds.

The hall still smells of lemon wax

and coats that stayed too long.

I’m tired of the moral tax

and the flat and dusty song.

I drive past when the sun is low

and the shadows start to reach.

I don't have anywhere to go

where the tired fathers preach.

I carry guilt like a heavy stone

tucked inside a pocket.

I’d rather be outside alone

than a light inside a socket.